


It Washes Well

by Westgate (Harkpad)



Category: Avengers, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Happy Ending, Insecurity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 01:38:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7825183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harkpad/pseuds/Westgate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint takes a rough hit in a battle, and Bucky finds a jacket crumpled in Clint's closet. The two are connected, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Washes Well

Bucky found Clint’s jacket in the closet, way in the back, crumpled up on the floor in the corner. The faded washed denim stood out against the pale beige carpet and all of the dark purples and blacks of Clint’s other clothes. When Bucky reached out to touch it, he blew out a sharp breath at how soft and worn it was. Clint must have slept in it regularly back when he was wearing it.

Bucky pulled it into his arms.

_You can come in whenever you want. I gave you access through Jarvis. I thought you could use another place to be sometimes._

Bucky curled into the corner of the closet and tried to get his breathing under control before Steve found him and frowned at his coping method. Screw Steve, though. He couldn’t help the way he coped. He closed his eyes against the wave of guilt that washed through him. Thinking poorly of Steve wasn’t anything Bucky needed to be doing, ever.

 Steve didn’t wait a split second too long to stop the mercenary soldier from pulling the pin on the grenade that had landed fifteen feet from Clint’s perch. Steve didn’t slip on the wet rooftop where Clint was standing and shooting when the grenade blew up so he couldn’t pull Clint back in time. Steve didn’t get preoccupied by all the other chaos and let the guy get close enough to launch a grenade at Clint’s position in the first place.

Bucky pressed the soft jacket to his face and clenched his eyes shut.

_You should be on the team with us. Coulson’ll approve it. We could use another sharp shot and then you and me could make some wagers. It’ll be fun._

 “Buck?” Steve called from somewhere in Clint’s apartment. “Buck come on out. Clint’s okay, Buck. He’s coming home with Natasha right now.”

Bucky jerked at the news, pushing a box of Clint’s gear over and making a clatter. He scrambled out of Clint’s closet so Steve wouldn’t know where he was hiding, and he got to his feet just as Steve entered the bedroom.

“Hey,” Steve said, his voice like a soft flannel blanket. “He’s okay. He busted his arm and has a concussion, but the doctors said he could stay here.” He looked at the jacket in Bucky’s hands but didn’t say anything. He just moved close and put a hand on Bucky’s shoulders. “Tony’s ordered Clint’s favorite take out and we’re all gonna eat together.” He hesitated. “If you want to come.”

Bucky stared down at the jacket and then up at Steve. “He’s okay?”

Steve nodded.

_I’m just a guy with a bow. Sometimes I get hurt._

Bucky bit the inside of his cheek and swallowed. “Okay.” It was all he had to give. He stood there silently until Steve just patted his shoulder again and left.

Bucky lost a little time before he moved out to the couch in Clint’s living room and sat down. He stared at the jacket in his hands and thought of cool nights on the roof with Clint, talking about guns and monsters and music and motorcycles.

_We should ride across the country like Steve did, Buck. Just take off for a while._

He blinked and looked over at the kitchen counter. They hadn’t had time to do dishes this morning, so Bucky stood up and closed his eyes for a moment before slipping the jacket on and shuffling over to the kitchen. He did the dishes. When he was finished and his hand was pink from the heat of the water, he sat down on the couch again and pulled the jacket tighter around his chest. He stared at the photos on the end table. Clint had pictures of himself with everyone on the team, even Hulk, clearly a selfie snapped after a fight. Bucky couldn’t help but smile every time he looked at that one.

The one of him and Clint was actually taken from the back. Natasha had snapped it at some point while he and Clint sat shoulder to shoulder on the roof. You couldn’t see their faces, just their backs, their heads ducked a little as they talked, but Bucky could imagine the soft look of contentment in both of their eyes as they sat while the sun went down.

The door slid open and Bucky stood quickly. Natasha stood near Clint’s elbow, probably in case he stumbled, and she looked at Bucky, and the jacket for a moment before she nodded at Clint. “He’s supposed to sleep and he can take some pain meds if he needs them.” She tossed a bag at Bucky and he caught it. He didn’t meet her gaze.

_Nat thinks we’re a good idea. Whatever that means. She’s not giving me too much shit about you, though, which is good enough for me._

He couldn’t take his eyes off of Clint. His hair was tousled and there was a butterfly bandage on his forehead, his eyes were tired but clear, and his arm was in a sling. He had dressed down to a t-shirt and his tac pants and he was staring at the jacket.

“I’m leaving,” Natasha said, and she pressed a quick kiss to Clint’s cheek. “Rest.” She looked over at Bucky as she left. “Both of you.”

When the door closed behind her, Bucky pulled Clint close and wrapped his arms tight around his back.

<><><><><><><><> 

Clint didn’t really remember the grenade or whatever it was that knocked him on his ass earlier today. The last thing he remembered was breakfast and tumbling back into the bedroom, Bucky’s smooth, hot skin against his own, and Bucky’s breath ghosting over Clint’s cheek before they had to tear themselves away from each other because of a call to assemble.

The rest of the day was pretty fuzzy. Now, though, his head hurt like a son of a bitch and his arm was already aching, and Bucky was clearly freaking out, like he did after the first battle Clint went down in, only worse.

_I didn’t expect you to go down, Clint. I thought – I thought you’d come through easy._

Now he was shaking against Clint and wearing a jacket that Clint had never shown anyone except Natasha.

The jacket stayed in the corner of his closet most of the time, wherever he ended up living. Sometimes, though, he’d pull it out after putting on his faded jeans, a purple t-shirt and his Converse, and he’d go find the seediest club that had live music that he could. It reminded him of sneaking away from the circus on his nights off (he was supposed to help behind the scenes when he wasn’t on) and letting music wash over him and seep into his pores.

Sometimes now he’d look at it and swear he could hear tinny rockabilly music in the threads.

_You’re always playing music. I’m not used to any of it._

Bucky had grown to like Clint’s music taste over the last few months.

“Hey,” Clint said, pushing Bucky back a little. The way Bucky’s eyes were a little wild and he kept biting his lip made Clint want to pull him back in and just hold him until he calmed down, but Clint felt like he had gone three rounds with Thor, so, “Buck, I’m okay. Let’s sit down.”

They both sat heavily, and Clint couldn’t help but curl into Bucky’s side. He found himself gripping the jacket and rubbing his fingers over it as Bucky ran his hand up and down Clint’s back.

“You took a hard hit today,” Bucky said, and his voice was gravelly, like he hadn’t used it in a month.

If there was one thing Clint had learned about Bucky in the nine months since he’d met him and three since he’d held his breath and slammed Bucky against the wall of the otherwise deserted shooting range to kiss him senseless, it was that he would go days without talking to anyone, even Clint, when he was in a mood. That was usually okay with Clint – he wasn’t one to build a relationship on conversation – but today felt different. This was reactionary.

“I’m okay. It wasn’t your fault,” Clint mumbled into the soft fabric of the jacket. It felt like home.

_I never really had a home, Buck. Not like you and Steve did. Anytime I got comfortable somewhere I’d get dragged away to somewhere different. Even when I had a place at the circus we were never in one spot and people came and went. I’m jealous of you two._

“It was my fault. I wasn’t fast enough,” Bucky whispered.

Clint untangled himself from Bucky’s arms and leaned back. He couldn’t help keeping a hand on the jacket. “Are you gonna do this every time I take a hit?”

Bucky didn’t answer.

“Well, that’s just stupid, Barnes, and it’s gonna get old real fast.”

Bucky looked away, sucked in a sharp breath. “Can’t help it.”

Clint pulled his broken arm close and shut his eyes against a wave of pain. He felt Bucky put his hand on Clint’s cheek, so he looked at him again. “You have to help it,” Clint sighed. “I get knocked around. Today some asshole with a grenade got the jump on us for one second too long, that’s it. Wasn’t your fault any more than it was mine or anyone else’s.”

Bucky stared at Clint for a long moment and pressed his mouth shut hard.

Clint watched him wrestle with something, but he didn’t say anything.

_I can’t be on a goddamned team, Steve. I haven’t been on a team since 1941._

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Bucky said abruptly.

Clint shook his head. “The team’s good, Bucky. You’re good for it and we need you. You can do it.”

Bucky cocked his head. “Wasn’t talking about the team, Clint,” he said, and his voice was low.

Clint blinked. “Wait. What? Are you breaking up with me?” he asked, ignoring how teenaged-drama it sounded.

Bucky didn’t answer.

Clint’s head was pounding and all he wanted to do was sleep. “Bucky,” he said, and he reached out to finger the jacket’s collar. “You’re wearing my favorite jacket.”

“Never saw you in it before,” Bucky said with a shrug.

“I don’t wear it much. It’s one of two things I’ve dragged around since I was a kid. My brother gave it to me for Christmas when I was sixteen. It was too big then, but he got a deal on it and was using money he’d scraped together and couldn’t be choosy. A year later he and another guy at the circus beat me to a pulp, stabbed me, left me for dead, and disappeared. The jacket was the last thing he ever gave me.”

Bucky stared. Finally he closed his eyes and nodded. “Looks pretty good for getting’ carted around all those years.”

“It washes well.” Clint ran his hand down Bucky’s arm. “I like seeing you in it. Don’t break up with me, okay?”

“You’re gonna get yourself killed and I’m gonna have to watch it happen.”

“Nope. I’ve got more lives than a cat. Besides, that’s not a reason. We’re good right now. Let’s do this until we can’t. Okay?”

Bucky leaned forward and kissed Clint softly. Clint's body went lax at the touch, and it was as if his strings had been cut. Bucky pulled back and Clint couldn’t help the groan that escaped his lips.

“Okay,” Bucky said. “You need to sleep.”

“Are you done trying to break up with me?” Clint mumbled as he leaned back on the couch and closed his eyes.

“Yeah,” Bucky answered. “I’m done.”

_I just like having you around. Your demons are recognizable, you know? You understand. You’re safe. . . and hot. You’re definitely hot._

Clint felt Bucky stand up, but his arm and his head were like lead weights, and he didn’t think he could move. After a moment, Bucky was lifting him off of the couch and carrying him back to his room. The bed was soft under him, and he felt his shoes being pulled off. Bucky eased him out of his clothes and into pajamas, and brought him a glass of ice water and a pain pill. He swallowed it gratefully. After a few moments, Bucky sank down next to him on the bed.

“Are you feeling better?” Bucky asked, and Clint liked the sound of his well-used voice better than the one that came out after he shut himself down.

“Now I am,” Clint mumbled. “Think I’m gonna sleep for a while.”

“Okay. I’ll keep watch.”

They lay quietly for a minute before Clint mumbled, “Hey, Buck?”

“Yeah?”

“Keep the jacket.”

“What? Why?”

“Because you look really hot in it, and I like the way I feel when I see you in it better than the way I feel when I see it crumpled up in my closet.”

Bucky rolled over and pressed a kiss to Clint’s forehead, and Clint liked that a lot, too.

“Okay,” Bucky answered. “I will.”

 

 


End file.
